The Wandering Monk
by Closely
Summary: Miroku wanders for a long time after the enemy, the hanyou Naraku, is defeated, and he rediscovers the horrors of the battlefield.


**The Wandering Monk**

**Written by: Brenko**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Inuyasha. Anything you recognize from the series or manga, most likely and very probably, belongs to the creators of the Inuyasha anime.**

Miroku had been wandering for a long time now, separate and traveling lonely. It was only another chore for him to trek from town to town, to seduce women, to con villagers into allowing him to exorcise their homes and workplaces for a healthy meal and a roof over his head every night; he didn't have much more to do with his life anymore, actually.

He was normal now, as close to normal as one could come from his background; the enemy had been defeated. His curse was lifted, gone and his friends were elsewhere, moving on with their lives as he was attempting to with his. But, he had no purpose left, it seemed, with no companions.

Kagome and Inuyasha, both healed and completely revived both physically and mentally from the utter horror of Naraku's reign; they had moved on with their lives... together. Shippou had even trailed after them, finding the perfect mother and father figures out there.

Sango, along with Kirara, and Miroku had... gone their separate ways. They _both_ traveled their own paths now, doing anything they could to keep going.

So... here he was... shuffling down this never ending, dirt path, his staff clinking with the constant reminder of every wearying step he took towards his next destination, wherever that might be. He was on his own, doing simple jobs such as, generally, false exorcisms for unsuspecting village people. Miroku sighed, stripping of his outer robe; the sun's beam was boring rather hotly, uncomfortably, on the back of his neck. He rolled his stretched, draping the robe over his arm and started off again... off to only Buddha knows where.

Torrents of dark energy washed over him with every step he took closer to the village that was inevitably waiting at the end of this path, becoming thicker in the air which each pace he took. As if it subconscious fear that he couldn't quite grasp, one he didn't _want _to take hold of.

What was he missing?

The monk stopped in his tracks when the strong stench of decay assaulted his nostrils. And... What was that he felt? No. He shouldn't tease himself like that – shouldn't fool himself so. Certainly he wasn't sensing _that_ aura... not _Sango's_.

However, he began to jog down the path, picking up dirt as he rushed. His sandals thumped against the ground irregularly and his staff clinked loudly; he didn't make any attempt to be stealthy about his approach as he was sure his companions would have suggested if he were still with them.

Smoke rose to the air, thick black clouds, and Miroku broke out into a run. The village... Had it been attacked?

Miroku paused at the remnants of the wooden gates surrounding the small town. The village, it seemed, had, in fact, been raided. Inside was a bloodbath. Lifeless bodies lie every which way, houses and pubs were up in flames, and the last of a pack of demons were still feasting on the fresh meat of recently departed.

He took in the pandemonium slowly, rooted to the spot in something he could only describe as horror and shock. How long had it been? Just how long had it been since he had last witnessed a scene of this magnitude?

A young woman, probably now orphaned, looking utterly stricken, raced up to him. Tears were cascading down her cheeks and she dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands fisted in his robes; she begged for his help... groveled. It forced him to tear his wide eyes from the massacre to look at the girl. He only watched her for a moment, before some unearthly noise alerted him to demons ahead. Charging. Straight for himself and the girl at his feet.

Instinctively, he reached into his robes and threw out a ward. The demons shrunk back the instant they made contact and Miroku could hear the sizzle of electricity against the evil of their auras. And, much to the monk's dismay, went back to devour the bodies strewn across the way.

The demons eventually scattered and finally left, while Miroku was left unable to stop what was going on, only able to protect the girl clinging to him behind the protective ward he put up. He could only stand and watch in terror; never had he felt so helpless in his entire life.

Later, much later, after he could finally wrench his robes from the woman's death grip, leaving her there in a messy heap. He could not comfort her any other way then to give what was left of her village a proper burial.

He buried until his arms were numb, until he could barely dig anymore, and then some. There was only one body left, it seemed as he approached the last gravesite. A yellow cat, a kitten with... two tails, was protecting this one, a young woman. The woman had... brown, long hair.

Empty, magenta eyes.

Sango. Kirara. His... friends.

Miroku fought the stinging behind his eyes. He would not mourn here, not in front of that woman. He kneeled in front of the body of his beloved and clasped both hands in front of him. He prayed for her; he lidded her petrified magenta eyes. And he buried her. With extra care.

He took the mewing kitten in his arms, listening to her mew for her master, and started to wander again his staff clinking along with him, Kirara purring quietly.

"Kirara." He mumbled, more to himself than to the cat. "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. I'm sorry, Sango; forgive me, my love."

Miroku knew it would happen one of these days. But he'd hoped he would have more time with her. He'd hoped he could have told her. Hoped he could have started a family with his beloved. His darling Sango.

**:( Review, please.**

**Brenko**


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